Thanksgiving

As wrong as it feels, I don’t like Thanksgiving. I can’t remember if I ever did. But I don’t think I did. And I KNOW that since mom died I like everything about it even less. 

As a kid, it was the holiday that was too short to spend with any relatives who all lived too far away, so we spent it with an ever changing guest list. Mom cooked and invited people who needed a place to be - usually international students & their families, who didn’t speak much English. Turkey and stuffing wasn’t my food, and neither was pie. So the food didn’t even win me over. 

Since our family never really made our own traditions, as a grown up kid, it was the holiday we didn’t really make too much about celebrating together either. 

My sister always spent it with her husband’s family. And so I did the same. 

We sort of skipped it. Or celebrated at a different time in a different way... mom even let us give up traditional food in place of new recipes we wanted to try. Although her stuffing and a turkey (she loved the leftovers) stayed a staple. 

With my own kids, I wanted to give them some sort of thanksgiving tradition since I never had one, but one never stuck. 

And then mom died. 

Thanksgiving was the first holiday without her. And I hated every minute of it. Even if she would have been alive and we wouldn’t have been together, she would have been a part of it. And she wasn’t. 

I lost all resolve to create a tradition. 

I tried to move thanksgiving to the beach for the first few years after she died. But that never took off. 

I tried to just let it be. Follow my husband’s lead and do it their way. But who was I kidding? 

Last year, I thought I had struck the balance. Run a 5K, deliver for meals on wheels and then do my husband’s family gathering. 

So this year I tried to do the same. But the cost of the 5K for a family of 5 seemed a bit much. The meals on wheels volunteer gig wasn’t a sure thing. And, bottom line, I didn’t really feel like doing any of it. 

Tomorrow, I’d be up for sitting around my mom’s table and eating her stuffing with celery and apples, that I have notoriously made fun of for 30+ years, with strangers I can’t communicate with, except to smile and nod. 

But anything short of that doesn’t seem worth the effort. 

I’ve spent the year really trying to cultivate gratitude (read: meditation). And yet, on this holiday about gratitude and thankfulness I keep coming up empty. I keep trying to have the thankfulness bubble up to the top. Instead, I just feel sad and maybe a little bitter. None of which looks real good on anyone, and doesn’t feel any better than it looks. 

I am thankful. So very thankful. For my family. And our health. And our perseverance and love in the hard times. And for my job. And my kids’ teachers. And our friends. And colorful sunrises and sunsets. And the clouds. And running. And cheese. And laughter. And the way my kids still smell good when I sniff their heads at night. And rocking chairs on the porch. And good TV. And good memories. And having felt loved and being able to love. 

So very thankful. 

Every. Single. Day. Even when it is hard. Even when it is Thanksgiving and thankful is supposed to be the first emotion, but somehow ends up being the hardest one to bubble up to the top. 

As I wrote this, the meals on wheels volunteer coordinator reached out to me and has a spot for us. For which I am thankful. I think I will start there.

*** After I wrote this and published it, I had a lightbulb moment. 

The thanksgiving tradition my mom gave me was to be thankful every day, so that you didn’t need a day specifically for it. And if I don’t pass down a heirloom recipe or thanksgiving activity to my kids, if I give them that, THAT is something to be thankful for. 

I knew I needed to write this, just didn’t know why until I did. ***

Hope

After weeks of wiggling, tonight, while biting into a tomato, this happened.

And when she turned and smiled at me, my heart skipped a few beats. My mom-friends had told me that the first front tooth to go, takes a piece of their youth with it. And as usual, they were right. She looked as if she had aged in her loss. And it felt so clear to me that these beautiful moments are fleeting.

I have every reason to hope that there will be many more.

But for me, it is a hard time to hang on to hope.

It is a hard time not to live with an undercurrent of fear. 

It is hard not to look into her eyes and not fear for what lies ahead.

I hope that the present we are living in now is one she only truly knows about in history class.

I hope she never feels the fears of this time.

I hope she always has access to health care and the freedom to make choices about her health and her body.

I hope she has clean air and water to surround her; mountains to climb; oceans to sail.

I hope that the education of her blooming mind is valued and respected.  

I hope that one day, she will become friends with a young woman who remembers spending night after night in an airport, waiting to seek refuge in America. I hope this friend will tell her about her home country and those nights, a distant memory, now, safe in America. And maybe they will realize that those nights were so different for one another - my child remembering the wait for the tooth fairy and her friend remembering the wait for hope. And then they will be hopeful together for the world they share.

Above all else, I hope she, and all of us, know a world that loves and practices kindness over all else. Because in the end (and the beginning and the middle) that is all that really matters.

I hold these hopes for my daughter, and her siblings and her friends, and all of us. Because wanting good for everyone only means good for oneself. Good begets good. Just try it. 

I will hold on to the precious moments of tonight. And my eternal optimism, which keeps me hoping. I will love. I will practice kindness. I will work to teach her these values with every breath. And I will hope that it prevails.

Tonight, the tooth fairy will hide her tooth in the jar with the other two, and place a dollar in its place under her pillow. And I will imagine that her dreams tonight are of this magic and hope.